Death Facinations
by typingfasterthanyou
Summary: A study into the thoughts of a dying Lily Potter.


**Recently I've developed a huge interest in Lily and James, it just sunk in how young they were when they died when I realised they were only three years older than me. So here's an attempt to get inside the head of a dying Lily Potter.**

I've always been fascinated with death.

Even since I was just a little red headed girl, pressing her nose against the case which held a mummified body, it's both intrigued and confused me that one day we're here and the next we're not. Tuney never understood my fascination, never wanted to go back to the _boring old museum full of stupid dusty stuff_. Death wasn't something she talked about; it wasn't normal to think so much, she'd say. Even when our grandparents died, and then our parents too she wasn't a shoulder to cry on, never someone I could sit with and ponder where they could be now.

My grandmother was a very religious person, she liked to tell my sister and I exactly what would get us into heaven and what would not. Most of the little "accidents" I had, as she named them, would definitely not. This was always upsetting to me because she loved Tuney more than me. I knew it, she knew it, Tuney liked to sing it from the rooftops when she came back from church; a place I was banned from. My father laughed this off, telling me she was just a daft old lady who didn't know what she was talking about, and if I wanted to believe in God and heaven I could and if not that's fine too. I wasn't sure.

My interest in death grew tenfold when I learned I was a witch. Suddenly there was all these new and amazing ways in which you could be killed or could protect yourself from death. The most interesting was the draught of living death, the one thing which fuelled my love of potions. I found it so intriguing for a potion to put a person on the brink of death, in a sleep that they may not ever wake from, but not actually be dead. This was much less terrifying than the _avada kerdavra _how horrifying it was to find out everything you are could be wiped out in an instant. Just a flash of green light and you're gone.

But I never really felt a true fear of death until the war. Even then it wasn't fear for myself, but a fear for James.

We were sat by the fire in the Gryffindor common room, after years of torment from the Marauders we'd matured and become somewhat friends, so I was tutoring him in potions whilst he helped me with transfigurations.

"Is it really past five o'clock in the morning?" The scruffy haired boy groaned, looking at the grandfather clock in shock.

I peeked out of the heavily curtained window at the sun coming up and laughed, "I guess it is!"

We stared at each other, smiles playing at our faces as we laughed. Who knew Lily Evans and James Potter could spend all night up talking and pretending to study. How times had changed from the insults and hexes of our previous years at the school.

Our moment was cut short by the squawk of James' owl, Gizmo, as it flew in through an open window. James reached up to grab the paper, "It's today's daily prophet, that's how early we've stayed up!"

"Anything of interest?" I asked, vaguely concerned as I watched the colour drain out of his usually cheerful face. His unblinking eyes met mine as he handed over the newspaper.

**HE WHO MUST NOT BE NAMED DECLARES DEATH TO ALL MUDBLOODS AND BLOOD TRAITORS**

The article described the harrowing messages left in blood at various massacres which had happened over the past weeks.

"Are you scared?" I asked, ignoring the thumping of my heart. The Potters were well known blood traitors, his parents love of muggles was common knowledge amongst the wizarding community; his mother being head auror and his father being on the muggle protection squad. Plus James' obvious crush on me had attracted him a lot of negative attention from the death-eater wannabes at school.

He placed his larger hand over mine, "For you, yeah."

I struggled to raise my eyes to meet his, regarding feelings I didn't want to feel and were _definitely_ _inappropriate _in the moment. "But you could die too." I said in a small voice.

"We could all die, in fact, we all will. Is it wrong of me to not want it to happen to you for a long time though?"

"Is it wrong for me to want the same thing?" I murmured, playing lightly with his fingers with my own.

A grin much too large for the tone of the conversation spread across James' face and he laced my fingers firmly with his own, "Lily Evans did you just say something nice to me?"

"Shut up." I grumbled, pretending to read the rest of the Prophet to hide my face.

"In fact, did you say something that sounded vaguely romantic?" James grabbed the paper from my hand and wiggled his eyebrows.

"Shut up!" I insisted, trying to pull my hand from his earnest grasp. However in failing to do so James pulled on my hand harder than I ever could and I fell into him, my lips meeting his in a crash that was completely unexpected and only slightly manoeuvred towards on my part. As soon as lips touched lips and his hands tangled into my hair my body relaxed, dulling but also enhancing my fear of Voldemort breaking in and taking him away from me at any moment. He was everywhere, attacking my lips, stroking my hair, grabbing my waist; and I couldn't get enough.

"You're never dying on my watch," He murmured against my lips, sending shivers of fright and excitement down my spine.

Falling in love with James Potter increased my fear of death by the day, but it never stopped me from becoming an auror or joining the order of the phoenix. I knew it was a very real possibility that I would die, my blood status being what it was and the masses of people like me that were dying every day. I love him and he loves me and we told each other daily how much we feared losing one another. I decided the best way to die would be together and I came to terms with that fact by the age of eighteen. But by nineteen I was pregnant and suddenly there was a life growing inside me which mattered more than my idealistic opinions on death. I never wanted my son to be an orphan.

My fear became so constant it felt like an extra shadow, predicting new and more horrible ways for my new born son and loving husband to die all the time. Hearing _The Prophecy_ was like having a bucket of ice water thrown over my head and never being able to get dry, I feared our imminent death now at every turn. Even with all the magical precautions put in place by Dumbledore I knew there was nothing that would stop _him_ finding us. And he did.

James died first and then me, my last thought before nothingness was overwhelming love for the child crying next to me. My Harry. Even in my own death I could only think of ways to prevent my son's death.

But somehow my love was enough.


End file.
